


Crucial Differences Between Movement Supporters

by gigantic



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-04
Updated: 2006-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Whatever emptiness there is in your life, whatever hours unaccounted, you may fill them with this album.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Crucial Differences Between Movement Supporters

**track one:** the best of me you'll never see

 _There are certain questions that always get asked, some topics that never fail to come up. He's learned to gauge them over time: the record always, rumors sometimes, and friends and family even less so. That is, unless the lines between them start to blur. It gets trickier if you have a bold journalist and fuzzy boundaries around a subject._

She asks, "All right, what's the question you're sick of getting in interviews? One question you never want to hear again."

The laugh is like a collective murmur. Faint smiles and sideways glances at one another.

"Just one?"

* * *

Ryan saves and imports their collection of scatterbrained sounds and uploads them to his iPod. Spencer nudges him as he finishes the transfers, thankful they only have another hour or so left to fly. He gestures a row ahead to where Brendon and Jon are having an enthusiastic debate over flush rotation, and then shows Ryan the napkin with his list of ways to tell when Brendon Urie is rubbing off on someone. Ryan smirks and closes his laptop.

"They're getting along too well," Spencer says. "Any day now Jon's gonna start mooning us in green rooms just because."

Ryan tilts his head and watches them through the gap between seats. "Jon's tough. He'll resist."

"No, we should probably stage an intervention." Spencer balls up the napkin and tucks it in his empty cup.

After they land, Brendon grabs Jon's arm and rushes off to the nearest airport bathroom. They catch up again at baggage claim where Jon announces, "The verdict's in, folks. Coriolis is just a conspiracy."

"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, rub it in," Brendon says, digging cash out of his pocket.

Ryan laughs and Spencer just says, "It's getting worse."

"It'll be okay," Ryan says.

Of course, in the hotel that evening, Jon decides his new favorite thing about the internet is some webpage all about the secrets of Exxon Mobil because the introduction flash animation is pretty cool. He shows Brendon when he finds it, and Brendon takes to running off random facts just to have something to say during dead moments.

It only happens more once Jon's preoccupied with Tom. Brendon starts babbling at random -- Ryan scratching words into a notebook at the table by the window, the ink in his pen dying. He comes into the room and bounces on the bed, staring at Ryan until he looks up and takes out one earphone.

"Hey, Ryan, did you know the vice president of the CDFE says current climate changes are normal?"

Brendon picks up his shoes and puts them on, watching Ryan while he ties them as if he honestly expects an answer.

Ryan just asks, "You guys finished eating already?"

"I did, yeah," Brendon says and comes over to glance at the pages. He rests his hand on Ryan's back and slides it up as he reads, pressing into the muscles just enough.

He says, "Oh, you added more," practically sitting on the arm of the chair as he curls and opens his fingers against Ryan's neck.

"Mm, some."

Brendon starts rocking his head back and forth, like he's hearing something. He drums his fingertips up Ryan's skin a couple times, but instead of sharing, just squeezes the muscles once and says, "You should get some food. I think we're leaving soon."

"Are you going back down now?"

"Yup. You wanna walk down with me?"

"All right. Yeah, let me just get my -- "

Ryan closes up his notebook and laptop and slips on his shoes. He pats his pocket to make sure he has his cell while Brendon bounces over to the bathroom. Ryan looks up when the toilet flushes immediately, and Brendon comes right back out, eyes him.

Brendon shrugs. "Just checking."

"You're so weird," Ryan says.

Brendon bumps into him. He knocks Ryan left with his hip, and then catches him around the back so he doesn't go far.

* * *

 

 **track two** : no rest for the commodity

 _"So what's next? You guys started work on the new album?"_

He heard a theory once about how some artists have to write out entire compilations of things that will never make a studio project before they can really work on something they like.

"Uhh, a little bit. No. No, not really."

* * *

At two o'clock in the morning -- central time now, they've just crossed a state border -- Ryan reaches through the curtain to push at Spencer.

He whispers, "Hey. Hey, what rhymes with faux pas?"

Spencer groans as he rolls over, eyes closed as he says, "Huh? What rhy -- what?"

Ryan taps his pen impatiently as Spencer cracks open one eye, then closes it again.

"I need a word. I'm trying to -- " Ryan explains, and makes some vague gesture, because, come on. "Faux pas, come on."

"Did the bus driver tell you another joke?" Spencer asks, already settling into sleep again. "His jokes aren't that funny, Ryan."

Something touches the back of his knee. Fingers scratch at the back and Ryan's knee buckles reflexively, twisting around to see Brendon looking up, slow-eyed, hair messy. Ryan reaches down to push his hand away, and Brendon keeps reaching despite it, knuckles sliding down Ryan's leg.

"Foie gras," he says, finally, and pinches just enough fabric between his fingers to tug.

"Huh? Brendon, what am I supposed to do with that?" Ryan asks.

"It rhymes," Brendon says like he can't believe the simplest joke in the world just flew over Ryan's head. He tugs again, and Ryan drops down. He has to bend forward awkwardly to sit on the edge of the bunk, and Brendon's content to rest a loose fist at Ryan's hip, nudging uselessly.

Ryan says, "How about a rhyme I can use," watching Brendon as much as he can in the dark. He can't tell if Brendon's really serious or stuck in that place between unconscious and alert, sleep-talking like he does after longer nights.

"Are you kidding?" Brendon pushes at Ryan's hip again. "You'd be a genius if you could use that. They'd give a Grammy to the guy who could make a good lyric out of those."

"You're half sleep."

Brendon says, "I've been laying here for an hour, _trying_ to fall asleep. What time is it?"

"Two."

"Again?"

"We just hit Indiana."

"Oh." Brendon stretches, props himself on an elbow to look down the narrow hall toward the front of the bus and then drop his head back to check behind him. "How about 'claw'? Raw? Paw, chainsaw, coleslaw, outlaw, grandma, bylaw."

"Coleslaw," Ryan repeats, skeptical.

"That's right," Brendon says. He pinches Ryan's thigh and his hand ends up staying there. "That's right, I said it. I stand by it."

 

 **track three:** how does it feel knowing i'm making history without you?

 _Sometimes he sits back and thinks: if the first album is made up of about eighteen years of his life, then anything new will be colored by the last year, year and a half. He processes conversations in clever one-liners and time signatures. Four-four, six-eight, maybe the next thing this DJ says will be their first single._

"Have you talked to Brent at all since?"

"No. But, you know what, even after it's all said and done, we do still wish him the best."

Ryan has got a whole chorus about it so far. He references Kafka, and Jon played a bassline during soundcheck yesterday that's been stuck in his head all afternoon.

It's gonna be great.

* * *

The thing about touring is there's a lot more dead time than anyone ever really expects. So that's how he's been remembering months on the road -- in late mornings and the conversations held while staring out at flat stretches of pavement. Some of the anecdotes are extravagant, but more of them are about smaller mundane things like how funny it was when Spencer tripped as he stepped off the bus in Atlanta.

Later he might remember everything about this moment. Ryan might remember that the bus moves slower through the rain, expensive cargo onboard, and that the crackling of water creeps up around him and rattles inside his head. He leaves the light out in the back, the screen of his laptop bright in his lap, staring at the same document he's had open for an hour now.

Brendon doesn't come back and say something ridiculous about ozone depletion or reforestation to help carbon dioxide emissions. No, instead, he goes with, "I saw part of this softcore porn once where this guy ate out some girl in, like, a garden while it rained. Yeah, I think that was the whole set up. She was gardening, he distracted her, it started raining, and they fucked on the ground. It was crazy."

"It would be really muddy, though, wouldn't it?" Ryan slides his finger over the mousepad and the screen gets brighter.

"Yeah," Brendon says, flopping down on the seat next to Ryan, and after he recalls it, adds, " _Yeah_."

Ryan scoots just enough to let them re-situate comfortably. Brendon tilts the laptop screen forward a little so that he can see the screen better, weight pressing into Ryan's side. He sits close enough that he breathes on Ryan's neck, almost resting his chin on Ryan's shoulder, hovering as he reads.

Ryan says, "I can't figure out what else to say."

Brendon hmms near his ear, and Ryan imagines he can feel the sound expand through Brendon's chest against his arm as he twists to point and underline a line on the screen with his index.

He says, "I like this part, though. Don't force it. It's good so far."

"Maybe," Ryan says and screws up his mouth. He closes the laptop, and Brendon reaches over to flip on the light.

"I think we're stopping soon. I want junk food. I have a Twinkie craving," he says.

"So get a Twinkie when we stop."

"Nobody wants to get off the bus with me."

"That's because it's pouring outside."

"But they're _Twinkies_."

He bribes Ryan by offering to buy him something, and although they both know that shouldn't really convince Ryan one way or other, he agrees anyway.

The rest stop is like a thousand others. Gas and roadside bathrooms, a convenience store, a tiny diner, and a fast food attachment -- McDonald's this round -- for the people without time to spare. Brendon buys his twinkies and a couple Hostess cupcakes. Ryan doesn't actually want anything, but Brendon insists. It was part of the deal, he reminds Ryan, so Ryan gets a Coke and then wishes he'd made a different choice as soon as they step back outside.

"This is gonna be so good. I can't wait," Brendon says, tearing open the plastic packaging. Ryan holds the huge umbrella over them.

Brendon makes a production out of eating, raising the cake and tilting his head back as he brings it down. He groans, long and deep as he chews the first bite, and Ryan eyes him over the edges of his plastic soda bottle as he swigs.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yis. _Tho_ mucth," Brendon mumbles around a mouthful of cream and spongy cake. He says, "Mm. Hab thum," and turns the untouched side to Ryan, who dodges the pastry at first before finally giving in once he realizes that Brendon won't quit. He manages to catch Ryan awkwardly, and the cream smears on his mouth. Brendon laughs and pops the rest of the Twinkie in his own mouth, chewing happily.

Ryan swallows, says, "I always forget how sweet these are."

Brendon says, "Dude, let me -- I accidentally creamed on your face," and hovers closer, giggling at his own joke.

Ryan turns his head, trying to simultaneously lick the cream from his lips and drag his knuckles across his cheek. "I got it."

"You act like I was about to kiss you," Brendon says, stopping short.

"No, you were probably about to lick my face to be gross and freak me out."

Brendon takes a bite of his second Twinkie. He tucks in against his cheek to say, "I was just gonna wipe it. I have a moist towelette," and actually produces said packet for Ryan anyway. "See?"

"Whatever." Ryan's never seen anybody look so smug about handing over a paper napkin before. He takes it and wipes at his mouth even though there's nothing there at this point. "Who knew you even had a napkin?"

"Moist towelette. Twinkies are a very serious business," Brendon corrects. "And if I wanted to kiss or lick anybody, I could do better than that. I have moves."

"I'm sure you do," Ryan says, clearly indicating that he isn't very sure at all.

Brendon licks his lips, swallows. "No, seriously. Awesome, stealthy moves. You have no idea."

"I don't doubt it."

"No, you do. You sound like you do, and you shouldn't," Brendon says. He breaks the rest of his last Twinkie in half and again holds the fresh side out to Ryan again. "You want more?"

* * *

 **track four:** the ever present danger of saying, 'i'm not sorry'

 _He doesn't remember when it first started. That's impossible. People who say they remember things that clearly -- Ryan thinks they're liars, most of them, making up details that fit the creation myths they need to believe to give things order._

("How did you know this would work? Could you feel it -- that you had something with this band?")

People like him make a fucking _living_ off of screwing things up and writing about them afterward. They never see anything coming. That's part of the point. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and a platinum record.

("When did you know you had something big?")

He should probably write that one down.

* * *

 

They always spend days cooped up riding from city to city on the bus, making lists out loud of the things they would do if they just had one night in a hotel for a change. Of course, when they finally do, they just watch a lot of basic cable television.

It seems like MTV has been playing older videos all morning, Ryan realizes just as Spencer asks, "Hey, what's Francis Lawrence doing these days?"

Ryan tilts his head. On television, a girl stands in the middle of a classroom and screams while Brandon Boyd sings about her warning. "I think he does movies now."

Brendon snorts. "He did one movie."

"What movie?" Jon asks, propping his legs on the end of the bed from the chair he's pulled up.

"One Keanu Reeves movie," Brendon continues.

Ryan turns to look up at Brendon, who sits with his back against the headboard. He bumps his fist against Brendon's thigh. "I thought you liked that movie."

Spencer says, "Constantine."

"Oh, yeah," Jon says. "That one dude is in that. Gwen Stefani's guy."

Brendon shifts and nudges Ryan's knee with his ankle. He says, "It's all right. I just think he should come back to music videos."

Spencer says,"I thought he _was_ still doing videos."

"Nuh uh," Ryan says and hits Brendon's thigh again, a little harder this time. Brendon kicks against Ryan's ankle in response, back and forth. "What video?"

"Umm. I can't remember, but I could've sworn I saw some video -- something kinda creepy and weird."

Jon drops his legs off the bed and sits up in his chair. He says, excited, "Oh, you know who would make a kick ass music video? M. Night Shyamalan."

Brendon laughs. "Wow, that was random as fuck," he says, because he would know.

He pinches Ryan's shoulder this time. Ryan reaches up to clip Brendon in the stomach, and Brendon cringes. That incites the real battle, and Brendon moves to dig his fingers in just below Ryan's ribcage.

"That would be freakin' amazing," Jon insists. "' _It was the kids -- '_ "

Through breathless giggles, Ryan says, "What the fuck, are you tickling me? Brendon!"

"' _\--They called me Mr. Glass_ ,'" Spencer finishes. "His first one was better."

Jon shoots him a sidelong glance. "You wish."

Brendon lets up a minute to say, "Hey, that's what you should write about."

"What," Ryan asks, shifting so that Brendon's elbow isn't stabbing into his side, "being a superhero?"

"A supervillian," Brendon amends.

Ryan pretends to think about it, then rolls right suddenly to get away, but Brendon must have picked up ninja reflexes somewhere recently. He throws an arm over Ryan and drags him back, snickering like some demented leprechaun, which probably isn't the most inaccurate description, so Ryan says it out loud. That only makes Brendon dig harder.

"Help me!" Ryan says, kicking out to somebody, anybody, but Spencer just hits Ryan's foot and says, "Dude, watch it, you almost hit me."

"Oh, ho! Scream if you want to," Brendon declares, the smug bastard. "No one's gonna save you."

His friends suck. He makes a mental note to look into buying new ones.

* * *

 **track five:** the moral was the emperor didn't need your approval

 _In between numbers, Brendon takes a deep breath. Ryan rests his knuckles on the guitar and taps the pedal, waiting. Brendon asks the crowd if they're still alive and drinks some water, and Ryan can't see anyone in the crowd past about the first four rows thanks to the lights, so he looks at the floor._

"No, really, how's everyone doing? More importantly, how're my real friends in the back?" Brendon says. He swings his head right when people cheer. He points at the front, the empty space blocked off by security. "Look at all this room down here. That's bullshit."

Security starts to let people move in as the show plays. Ryan realizes this when Brendon touches his neck. He stands behind him, singing and there's something about the way Brendon always lingers for that extra second that has Ryan step aside. When he looks up there's a girl smiling nearly right below him.

Brendon winks before he moves back to center, and through the space he vacates, Ryan can see clear across the stage to where Jon's playing. He smiles as he catches Ryan's eyes, and it only feels surreal for a moment.

Afterward, there's a tape recorder under his chin immediately. Just some quick backstage press, just an exclusive look. Quick.

"What's it like out there? What's it like coming off after a show?"

"It's kind of a rush. I guess. I don't know, going off is better than coming on, I think. I can get pretty anxious before, you know?"

* * *

They've got a lot of space and at least twenty-four hours between Iowa and Colorado. They wash their own clothes in some local laundromat outside of Lincoln, two boxes of pizza and rolls of quarters lined up neatly on a washing machine.

It takes exactly half an hour before Spencer says, "These dryers really are fucking huge," and Brendon swears he can fit inside one.

"You could not," Spencer challenges. Brendon sticks his foot inside the bottom unit in the farthest corner before Spencer even thinks to call him an asshole this time.

Jon sings idly, kicking his heel against the side of the machine like a metronome. One, two. One, two. "If you want me, fucking come and find me. I'll be waiting with a gun and a pack of sandwiches."

"What kind of sandwiches?" Brendon shouts.

Jon thinks, shrugs. "I don't know. Why, does it matter?"

Ryan nods. "I won't get out of bed for anything less than freshly cut turkey and a chrome forty-five."

Spencer laughs and tries to push Brendon's head down. He says, "I don't know. Nothing says time and devotion like cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off."

"And fancy mustard," Brendon says.

Ryan grimaces. "Ugh, who would eat that?"

"Pardon me," Brendon says, lowering his voice and faking some ridiculous bourgeois accent. "But do you have any Grey Poupon?"

Jon just shakes his head. "I make a mean peanut butter and jelly."

"Oh, you aren't even trying," Ryan says. "You don't really want anybody to come find you."

Spencer tells Brendon to fold in his arm so he can close the door. When he does, and Brendon's closed in tight he cheers triumphantly through the glass. Ryan taps Jon's arm.

"Camera," he says. Jon hands it over and Ryan crouches down to take a picture head on, with Spencer tapping the glass with one hand giving a thumbs up with the other.

"Here we have a real life Vegas douche bag in captive," Jon narrates from his seat on top of a washing machine. "But, hey, how does he respond to stimuli?"

Spencer says, "You sound nothing like the crocodile hunter."

"Just put in some quarters."

Knocking on the glass, Spencer says, "I'm just gonna put it on low, okay? You'll be fine."

Brendon hollers, "What?" but clearly gets it a second later as the coins clink through the machine. He starts yelling and rattling around as much as possible. He cusses them all out when he pushes the door open and starts trying to unfold himself, pissed off that they just keep laughing.

"Screw you guys. I hate you all," and the thing about Brendon is he still sometimes crosses his forearms in an X over his crotch when he tells them to suck it.

People on the crew call him 'tumble dry' for three days straight. They call him static cling, spin cycle, and lint trap. Right before a soundcheck, Ryan just calls him, "Brendon."

"Yes? YES. Oh, Ryan, say it again," he says, turning around and coming to squeeze Ryan's shoulders as he hugs him.

"Are you okay?"

"You called me by my name, dude," Brendon presses his face into Ryan's neck and fucking _sighs_ , and the tiny rush of air tickles Ryan's skin. He snorts. "I feel like I haven't heard -- seriously, it's a great name. Brendon. I miss it."

Ryan just pats his head and says, "I was trying to tell you that I think your in-ear is off. I didn't see the little light on the pack."

"Oh." Brendon steps back to glance over his shoulder. He reaches back to flip the switch on his pants. "So, you were checking out my ass?"

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Look, lint trap --"

"Okay! Okay," Brendon says, holding his hands up, and Ryan laughs. "It's not funny. I am a human being with feelings? And that hurts. I have a name. My name is Brendon Urie."

"His name is Brendon Urie," Ryan mocks, and he dodges the swipe when Brendon reacts.

* * *

 **track six:** send memories, send anecdotes, but keep your fucking sympathy

 _"You guys got so big so fast. Do you ever stop and wish that maybe you had more time to build momentum? That you got to do some things a little differently?"_

He kissed Pete once. It wasn't entirely by accident, but it also wasn't --

It annoyed the shit out of him when Brent pulled him aside later and asked if Ryan was sure about it. Really? Pete? Not that it wasn't a valid question, because in other businesses -- in _most_ careers, people didn't go around making out with their new bosses in hot tubs, but fuck Brent for thinking Ryan could be that guy in the first place. Ryan gets that it was a question Brent had to ask. He gets that it was probably even one he should have asked for everybody's sake, but it seemed like after that, Ryan ended up thinking _wow, you don't know me at all_ at least once during every other conversation.

Sure, he's wondered how much of that is his own fault.

* * *

They haven't had to sleep practically on top of each other in the backseat of vans for a while now, so Ryan keeps forgetting that Brendon twitches in his sleep. The second time it happens, Ryan opens his eyes and peers around the room as best he can lying down. At the foot of the bed, the movie has ended and the laptop's replaying the menu screen sequence over and over again.

He turns on his side, buries his face in the comforter covering the pillow and then looks at Brendon. He's turned onto his stomach sometime in the past couple hours they were supposed to be watching a film, mouth parted. Ryan just lies there, dozing on the opposite end up of the friendly foot or so between them until Brendon twitches another time, snapping Ryan awake.

He nudges Brendon's arm. He mutters, "Hey. Brendon, wake up."

Brendon wrinkles his nose. He scrunches up his face and eventually lifts his eyelids just enough to show he's at least partly alive.

Ryan says, "The movie's over. You can go to bed if you want to," still halfheartedly tapping his fingers on Brendon's sleeve.

Brendon grumbles, twists to catch Ryan's hand and still it. He makes a quiet shushing sound, already dozing again as he murmurs, "'m sleep."

Ryan means to push at him again but closes his eyes somewhere in the middle, and when he comes to again later, Brendon's already gone.

* * *

 **track seven:** your important validation in 'you like me, you really like me'

 _"So I'd imagine you try to write for the next album while you're on the road, right?"_

Spencer says, "A little bit. Ryan writes most of the lyrics, and we just kind of go from there, usually, but it's pretty --"

"It's harder to write on the road because you've got a lot going on around you," Jon offers. He keeps bouncing his leg, anxious little stutter jumps.

They can feel the question coming. It never fails to reach that point in the interview. Ryan can sense it three segues off, and Spencer had made a joke about it being like his grandfather's arthritis at first. Joints achy? It's probably going to rain. Interviewer clears his throat before a question? It's either about sex or about a guy you haven't talked to in over six months but can't get away from talking _about_.

"And obviously some things are different this time around. 'Cause we know that earlier this year, you got rid of your first bassist, Brent. I'm sure most people have heard the story by now, but for those who may not know, what happened with that?"

He thumbs the button on his front pocket when the microphone tips toward him. Barely opening his mouth, Ryan says, "Um."

Brendon leans his way and asks, "Did you know that two members of Supreme Court went to GMU, whose Law and Economics Center has received something like $180,000 from Exxon Mobil?"

The interviewer laughs. No, that's news to him. He looks down at his pad of paper and tries again. "But were there lawsuits? I mean, you made some accusations -- you said, wow, that he didn't play _any_ of the bass parts on the record, right?"

Jon puts down his water, nodding. He says, "Oh, yeah, Brendon's right. And, I swear, it's people like Dixy Lee Ray who have us thinking greenhouse gases don't need our immediate attention."

"And Spencer," the interviewer says, turning to him now without rolling his eyes at the rest of them. "You were quoted as saying the difference between Jon and Brent is -- I have here -- 'musical talent.'"

"Oh, uh," Spencer says and glances at the rest of them for a second. He looks entirely serious when he turns back, and he folds his hands over the arm of the couch. "Well, you know, Brent didn't believe in global-warming. And Jon's just -- "

Ryan cuts in, adding, "Yeah, Jon learned how to fuel cars with diesel vegetable oil from, um, Carey Hart."

Brendon's laughter at that cues everyone else's, including one of the cameramen. The guy interviewing reorganizes his notes, the moment passing almost as quickly as it came, and asks if they're excited for the show that night.

* * *

Vancouver is for snowball fights. At least it is that day, and none of them actually have proper boots, but they get a good twenty minutes of wasted time in anyway.

Ryan's face is too cold after five minutes, and he kind of just hopes his nose isn't running. It's not like he has any way of knowing at this point, but they would still never let him live it down. He can't feel a thing, skin chilled almost numb, so it really only stings when Brendon walks up and kisses him, sharp warmth of the peck slicing across his mouth.

He licks his lips when Brendon steps back, breath puffing white between them. Ryan sniffs and starts to ask him what that was for until Brendon grins and smashes a handful of snow on his head.

"Booyah!" Brendon yells and sprints off.

Spencer and Jon turn around as Brendon runs away. Jon sidelines him, knocking Brendon down into the snow, and Ryan's there with his own fistful and sights set on Brendon's pants.

"Hold him down, hold him down," Ryan says, sitting on Brendon's legs.

Brendon thrashes but Jon holds steady, and Ryan feels triumphant. He feels downright justified as he tugs Brendon's belt loop and packs snow under the waistband of his jeans. Brendon hollers and curses, face bright red, and Spencer's laughing somewhere to their left.

"Hey. Hey! Cut that shit out!" Jon yells over Brendon at same time Ryan's saying, "Who the _fuck_ says 'booyah' anymore?"

Brendon bucks and snatches his arm away from Jon, pushing Ryan over and pinning him down by the shoulders. He grins, mischievous and ready for revenge. He promises, "It's so over for you," but Spencer chooses that moment to collapse on top of Brendon and Ryan gets the wind knocked out of him with twice the weight crushing his chest. Jon just piles on top, and Ryan's still laughing even as he groans.

Sandwiched between him and Spencer, Brendon grits his teeth and whines, "I can't feel my balls," and Jon bursts into fresh laughter on top. Spencer tells Brendon to fucking deal with it and pats him too hard on the head. Ryan's pretty sure he's going to get sick as hell after this. His pants are soaked now, but he looks up and sees Jon grin at him, all teeth, and it's worth it to watch him flinch when Ryan curls up just a little more snow and smears it across his mouth.

It's during that stagnant couple of hours between doing a quick soundcheck with a soggy ass and showtime that Jon tosses a towel at Ryan's head and scratches at his scalp through it to help him really dry off. Spencer and Brendon come back to the bus with a bunch of styrofoam cups and an assortment of individual tea bags and dump them on the table.

"Okay," Brendon says and claps his hands together.

Spencer clarifies. "For some reason the store didn't have hot chocolate. They didn't have just regular tea, either, so we got like three of everything."

And that's how Ryan learns that Earl Grey tastes like some kind of perfume even if Jon thinks it's actually not that bad, really, when it's sweet enough. Ryan flicks one of the packets at him, and while Spencer's talking about the difference between Chai and Green tea, Ryan sneezes and they all look around, stopping.

"Uh oh," Jon says, grin spreading.

Ryan sniffs. "What?"

* * *

 **track eight:** desensitized at summer camps, these expert rock and roll tramps

 _"What direction do you think you'll take the new material in?"_

When, how, what, why. A few months after he kicked one of his best friends out of his life over speaker phone his father died, and Ryan couldn't call one of the key people he thought would understand. For those first few weeks, he just kept thinking about how, wow, karma's a bitch, huh?

Nobody asks about his father.

* * *

He plays two shows completely miserable, hopped up on Dayquil so he doesn't need to run offstage to blow his nose every couple seconds.

Jon brings him some more Emergen-C. He asks, "The strawberry or the orange?" each time and starts to hand over the strawberry before Ryan answers. He gives him warm water, and makes Ryan down packets like shots. Jon winces with him as Ryan swallows and then pushes his tongue around in his mouth.

"It's gross, huh?"

"Every single time," Ryan confirms. He slides the little plastic cup back to Jon across the table, and Jon crumples it in his fist. The plastic cracks loudly. Ryan sneezes, and it sends him into a coughing fit.

Jon frowns. He says, "Dude, I don't envy you."

"Because I feel fucking terrible?"

Jon nods. However, he says, "But you look amazing," and makes kissy faces at Ryan from where he sits.

"I look like shit."

" _Amazing_ shit," Jon says, and Ryan laughs himself into some more ugly coughs. "Do you want something hot to drink? Brendon and Spencer got some of those soup-in-a-cup things. I can heat one up for you."

Getting up, Ryan says, "It's cool, I can do it."

Jon pushes his shoulder, knocking him back down into the seat and stands himself. He tells Ryan to stay put and perfect being miserable while he works his microwave magic in the kitchenette.

Brendon and Spencer finally come back after Ryan's already finished, bearing movies and candy. Brendon launches into a long, detailed and mostly boring story about how they went to three stores and nobody could understand why it was so important for them to find a particular dvd. Ryan dozes off a couple times in the middle (cold medicine, you know), but Spencer pinches his calf both times, and at the end of, seriously, the longest, most boring story in the world and a shit load of build-up, Brendon says, "and, so, okay. Tadah!" and Spencer holds up _Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Movie_.

"Oh, shit!" Ryan actually wants to sit up for this after all, so he does. Spencer hands it over, and it's even a collector's edition. There are deleted scenes and commentary.

Brendon says, "I told you," and starts singing a few bars of the title song. "Come on, let's put it on."

It's an awful movie. It fucking blows, but it was awesome back when Ryan was like eight, trying and failing over and over to draw the lightning bolt in the logo, so the whole adventure is still great now. Brendon sits on one end of the couch, Ryan's feet resting on his thighs while Ryan has his back propped against Spencer's side. Brendon does the hand movements every time the Rangers morph, and Jon won't stop laughing at him.

Drowsiness takes over halfway through, and he never gets to see the Rangers beat Ivan Ooze, but he sleeps well.

He feels a lot better in the morning.

* * *

 **track nine:** for the normal pleasures and professional pay-offs

 _The first memory that comes to mind whenever someone asks Ryan about Jon is some random afternoon last year. The hurry-up-and-wait gnawed at their patience more than usual, and when Spencer hummed to match the buzz of a raggedy air-conditioner, Brendon picked a note just above it. Ryan hit one lower, and Jon didn't ask questions when he came into the room, just looked at them, amused. Brent was no where to be found._

"But, Jon, you've gotten used to everything pretty quickly. How has it been coming into things in the middle?"

It doesn't mean anything, but Ryan hasn't asked anyone if they remember it, too, just in case he's recalling it all wrong.

* * *

Ryan can see the red light blink to life before Spencer even says, "All right. All right, go."

On his left, Brendon waves a hand and says, "I'm Brendon."

"It's our camera. We know who you are," Spencer says, staring at the screen.

Sticking out his tongue quickly, Brendon still says, "I'm Brendon," holding a hand to his chest, and then moving it to Ryan's shoulder. "And this is Ryan." His fingers are still cold. "And we are going on record -- video record -- to say that Gabe Saporta is abusive, and he plays dirty."

"Yeah," Ryan says, and glances down at his arm.

Spencer shifts the camera little, angling more towards Ryan. He asks, "What happened, Ryan?"

"Okay, earlier Jon told Nate or somebody that I was the fastest runner."

"-- in the group," Brendon adds.

"Ever," Ryan says, "Anyway, so, I guess Gabe is supposed to be really fast or something."

Brendon says, "He is really tall. Got those long legs."

Ryan looks at him, briefly. "Yeah. Yeah, so, basically it was set up that we would have a race after the show. A Cobra Starship versus Panic! at the Disco kind of--"

"--race," Brendon says, "Like gangs. After the show, it was going down."

Spencer sings two lines of the Yung Joc chorus behind the camera, and Brendon laughs. He bobs his head dramatically, snapping back into focus when Ryan nudges his side.

Ryan says, both he and Brendon still catching their breath a little from all the excitement, "So, after the show, we race. And Gabe is like -- Gabe is a little tipsy. I would've beaten him anyway, but everybody's like, oh, disadvantage. So we have to do it twice. And when he sees that I'm about to win _again_ , he fucking -- "

"Oh, my God, Gabe fucking grabs him!" Brendon's not using his inside voice at all.

"He pulls me _down_ ," Ryan corrects. "Like, he tackled me. And I have," Ryan holds up his left arm, stepping a little nearer to the camera to show off the red scratch tracked along his forearm, "I have this now. My side hit the ground kind of hard, I think I twisted my ankle."

"Poor guy. You want me to make it better?" Brendon says, and Ryan just turns toward him, so he can kiss the scratch without missing a beat.

Spencer says, "You're just all fucked up. Very crippled now."

"Yes, I'm very crippled," Ryan says, scratching his head with his free hand. Brendon's holding onto the other arm idly, tracing his fingers up and down the welted skin. "We came back here to document this and get our gear. We kind of lost Jon out there, because now it's really. We're declaring war."

"Officially. There's gonna be a rumble." Brendon points at the camera. "We're coming for you, Cobra Starship. Watch out."

Ryan says, "But Gabe's mine. I'm gonna get him. With my, uh, secret karate chop action."

Brendon makes a chopping move at the camera, and then turns his face up to Ryan's. "You have karate chop action?"

Ryan nods. Completely straight-faced, he admits, "It's almost as good as my running, actually."

Laughing, Brendon says, "Okay, you have to teach me."

"It's a secret, Brendon." Ryan holds a finger to his lips. "If I showed you, I'd have to kill you."

"Oh." Brendon's eyes go wide.

Ryan nods again. "Yeah. I'm a little intense."

Spencer flips the camera around to show himself. He pretends to slit his throat with his finger, and then closes the camera.

 

* * *

 **track ten:** a boom or a few isolated pops of pomp and circumstance?

 _"Was there any particular moment when you noticed things changing?"_

Here are some of the good things in the world that Brent Wilson is still responsible for:

1\. teaching Ryan how to bluff better at poker  
2\. Friday night Monty (Python, that is)  
3\. "Spencer and Ryan, this is Brendon. Brendon, Spencer and Ryan."

"I'm sorry, I don't -- What do you mean?"

* * *

Vegas is deliberately not scheduled as the last date on the tour. The San Diego show is also the very next night, so no one gets to sleep at home for the evening, although during the early morning, they get to grab some clothes that they haven't been recycling for the last few months. So they get to check in with family, then the show, and then after a few hours of hanging around, they're off to California again to wrap everything up on a Saturday.

Brendon doesn't kiss Ryan on stage that night, and Zack owes Spencer a bajillion dollars.

"A bajillion?" Jon asks, backstage. "That's pretty steep, Spence."

Zack agrees. He also claims that he shouldn't have to pay on the grounds that Spencer probably has insider information, so he could have known all along. He probably set the whole thing up.

"Information on what?" Brendon asks when he finally runs into the room, towel over his head.

Spencer says, "Zack here," and holds his hands out to indicate Zack, "thought you would go for the gold and try to attack Ryan for real tonight."

"Oh, yeah?" Brendon says, and he slides a hand around Ryan's back as he sidles up to him. He juts his hip and takes the opportunity to dip Ryan a little, which basically means Ryan has to brace an arm against the lockers and hold on for dear life. "I probably should have."

Ryan seriously hopes Brendon's got him secure with just the one arm curved around his middle. Their legs are a little tangled, and Brendon raises his eyebrows, towel falling over his face. "Are these your moves? Because they kind of suck."

"Fuck you, you're totally swept off your feet."

Jon says, "You do look a little swept," as he takes off his sweat-soaked button down.

Spencer explains that, "that's called terror. Brendon, you're gonna drop him. He'll break his neck, and then I'd have to stab you."

"You would not," Brendon insists, but he let's Ryan stand up. "There, you're fine. Although, if anyone could make a neck brace trendy --"

"Are we heading for Mexico tonight?" Zack asks. "Or, wait --"

"No, tomorrow we're going to the zoo," Ryan says. "Brendon wants to hug a seal."

"Like the girl in the advertisements!" Brendon says. "We saw a brochure with this little girl who had no front teeth."

"Brendon wants to be that little girl," Jon cuts in, and Brendon throws his nasty towel at him.

Ryan rubs his finger under his eye lightly, hoping to scratch the itch without getting makeup everywhere. "Didn't we have a whole list? Seals, lions... Spencer, was that you who used to go on and on about chimpanzees?"

Spencer snorts. "I'm pretty sure that was Brent."

"Fuck chimpanzees," Brendon offers. "Who hasn't seen a chimp? Let's see something like. Let's check out some fucking Ibis."

Spencer laughs really hard. "Do you even know what that is?"

Jon says, "It's a bird, right? I think it's a bird."

Brendon shrugs. He says, "I just think it sounds cool," and repeats it over and over even as Ryan goes to grab the first shower.

Under the water, he thinks about plenty of nothing. He goes through the show in his head, picturing things that just happened. He can see what worked and what went wrong and thinks about how none of it makes a difference, because this was the last night. In a few days they're going home, and it will almost be like two years ago, starting from scratch. Almost. Not really.

When he steps out of the shower and dries off, folding the towel around his waist, Brendon comes in to talk about how he and Jon decided the first single off the new record should be called "The Ibis Made Me Do It," really, just hear him out.

And in the end, okay. In the end, Ryan kind of wonders what Brent or anyone might think (Really? Brendon?) about the fact that Ryan kisses him in a brightly lit arena shower room, alone and not even a little accidental. Brendon's hand snaps to hold Ryan's arm at the elbow, fingers pressing (When did you feel it change?) into skin soft and still damp. This close, Brendon smells sharp from the sweat but not bad, and Ryan opens (Could you feel it -- that you had something?) his mouth a little wider, one hand fisted over the towel and the other hanging purposeless between them while Brendon's thumb sweeps the crook of his arm slightly higher.

Brendon blinks, rocking back, and says, "Okay, so you're into the guerilla approach."

Ryan doesn't know what it means that in his head, he can hear (How is it, coming into things in the middle?) the chaos of a crowd.

* * *

 **track eleven:** paradigm shift might be an understatement

 _"But one thing we can definitely expect is a completely different sound?"_

"Yeah, I mean. A lot has happened in the past couple years for us, so we're not. Our music is going to change and stuff, just like us. We don't want to make the same album twice. We're already bored with the twelve, thirteen songs we have, so. Yeah. Just expect something -- no, don't expect anything. That's what it is. Don't expect anything at all."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> \- Format for the track/song lyrics subtitles and the punchline of a scene stolen from lise and kel's [don't believe everything that you breathe](http://obsessivetendencies.net/songs/breathe.html), who basically stole from "Eighteen Stations" in [the war against silence](http://www.furia.com/page.cgi?type=twas). The summary quote in the header is lifted from the same website. Everything I know about fanfiction I learned from the people who get me drunk.
> 
> \- The title comes from a larger quote in Rob Rosenthal's _Serving the Movement: The Role(s) of Music_ which reads, "Additionally, the very ability to express unity...may in fact create an illusion of solidarity that obfuscates crucial differences between movement supporters that should be talked out."
> 
> \- According to Pink, [Carey Hart really can](http://www.blender.com/guide/articles.aspx?id=1872) at least make his Ford F-250 run on vegetable diesel fuel. _And_ he's from Vegas. Yay!
> 
> \- Many thanks to thegoldsky and joyfulseeker, who fielded bits of this at random and helped me puzzle out what I was trying to say. This is far from a perfect execution, I think, but probably as close as I'm gonna get with this one.
> 
> \- And for those interested, this now has a self-indulgent [writer's commentary](http://www.obsessivetendencies.net/newwords/stories/panic_comm.html).


End file.
